Unwrap Me
by NeverWonder
Summary: Their families may never forgive them, but he's pretty sure eloping at Christmas time was the best decision ever. [A Christmas One Shot for my best friend]


**A/N:** Another gift for my girl, Amanda. Be warned this is pretty much porn for the sake of writing porn, but hey, newlywed Finchel is fun too.

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It's not like they planned to elope; it just happened. He whispered marry me in her ear as she lay curled in his arms, and she rolled over and kissed his lips before murmuring let's elope. That was a week ago. Their families may never forgive them, but he's pretty sure eloping at Christmas time was the best decision ever. No elaborate ceremony or huge expensive reception—Kurt's going to kill him because he'll never believe that eloping was Rachel's idea—just Rachel in a simple white dress, Santana in red, and him in a jacket and tie. The only real expense is their hotel suite, which they have for the entire holiday weekend. It's Christmas Eve, and he's already gotten the greatest gift possible.

She's no longer Rachel Berry, and it's the strangest feeling. Not a bad feeling though—it's a very good feeling, and incredible feeling that everything is finally as it should be. This morning when she crawled out of bed, she was Rachel Barbra Berry, but now she's standing in front of the mirror Rachel Barbra Hudson. It all happened so quickly; one moment they were cuddling in bed and the next they were dragging Santana to the justice of the peace as both maid of honor and best woman. It wasn't a fairytale wedding, but nothing about their relationship had been a fairytale. What it was, however, was real. She fluffs her hair for the fortieth time, not sure why she keeps feeling these fluttering nerves in the pit of her stomach.

"Babe, are you going to spend our wedding night in the bathroom looking at yourself in the mirror or are you going to let me see you too?" His faux plea makes her giggle, and she ties the sash on the red silk robe she's wearing. "I think it's pretty much tradition that the groom gets lucky."

"Good things come to those who wait." She calls out, swiping on a touch of lip gloss.

Traditionally she should be wearing something white and frilly, with lots of silk and lace, but then again, traditionally their wedding cake shouldn't have been cupcakes with bride and groom toppers on them. Not that they weren't delicious or that it wasn't hilarious to squash cupcake into his face. So she isn't worried about not wearing white silk and lace tonight. She's more than a little pleased with her choice tonight. Sure it's a little silly, but she's pretty sure that when he sees it he'll think it was well worth the wait. When she steps out of the bathroom she can't help but giggle. He's reclined on the bed, his long lean frame stretched across the comforter, wearing nothing but a pair of red and green plaid pajama pants that hung low on his hips. He stretches his arms over his head with this ridiculous moan and flashes her a grin.

"What? These are my Christmas pajamas, and I always wear them on Christmas Eve." She takes a few steps closer, waiting for him to notice what she's wearing. "Besides, you're all festive too."

He can't help but stare; the red robe she's wearing doesn't even reach her knees, and he can see this little bit of skin where it falls open at the top. All he can think about is what might be hiding underneath and how quickly he could get to see it. He loves the way she seems so completely pleased with herself, turning in place just fast enough for him to catch a glimpse of red lace. The way she giggles when he makes childish grabby hands at her only encourages him.

"Come on baby, it's traditional that the groom gets it in on the wedding night, and I'm dying to see what you're wearing under there." She just laughs and takes up a position between his parted thighs when he sits up and rotates to the edge of the bed. "Plus it's Christmas Eve!"

"If you don't stop pouting I'll go back and change into some frumpy pajamas."

"I hate to break it to you, baby girl, but you'd be sexy in that too." His hands are instantly on her hips, and she presses soft kiss to his lips, her fingers toying gently with the back of his hair.

It's not manly to purr or whimper, he reminds himself, and he transforms the sounds her fingers draw forth as her fingers rake his scalp into a ragged moan. Their kiss deepens, becoming more intense as she takes a step closer and his hands slide down her hips and under her ass; she whimpers against his lips when his hands squeeze the lace covered curves. Her tongue darts out for a moment, brushing his bottom lip, and when he sucks it into his mouth, her eyes widen. They kiss slowly, breathing each other in and savoring the taste and feel of each brush of their lips and tongues. His hands slowly explore her body, tracing every curve and expanse of bare skin; he touches her gently, as if she's made of glass, and his gentleness makes her shiver. It doesn't take long for him to slip his hands around her front, loosening the tie that holds her robe closed.

The silk begins to fall, exposing bare shoulders, and his lips travel down the length of her neck, nibbling gently at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Her hands explore the expanse of his back and shoulders, and she lets her eyes fall closed for a moment. She can feel his lips form the words I love you against the warm skin of her shoulder, and the heat swells under her flesh, burning her from the inside out with the most delicious fire. The robe drops further, exposing her chest, but the tie prevents it from falling open completely. Suddenly he envelops a nipple in the heat of his mouth, teeth grazing sensitive skin and drawing out a mewling moan as her head falls back. Her breath catches in her throat, her nipple pebbling as he teases it gently with his tongue and his fingers treat its twin to equal attention.

"F-Finn," his name falls from her lips in a gasp when his lips switched positions, and she lets her fingers drag through his hair, causing him to moan against her skin; heat pools between her thighs, the soft ache throbbing.

"You are so beautiful." She swears that she hears him mutter Merry Christmas to me as he finally lets his hands travel back to the tie; her eyes flutter open just as the robe slides down her body to the floor, and she meets his gaze with a wicked grin. "Rach—"

His fingers trace over the sequins, and he can feel her shiver ever so slightly; his wife—god how much does he love that word—is wearing nothing but a pair of red sequin and lace panties that literally command him to unwrap her. What else can he do but obey? In one smooth motion he lifts her onto the bed; she practically glows as she lies beneath him, her dark curls spread across the pillows and her lips soft and kiss swollen. He hovers above her, kissing her in quick heated sweeps of his lips across hers as his hand settles between her thighs. Two long fingers stroke the already damp fabric, drawing forth a soft whimper, and he rewards the gently rocking of her hips with a slight increase in pressure. She gasps out his name when the heel of his hand presses against her and her fingers fumble to grip the sheets beneath her when his lips begin to travel down her trembling body.

"We always unwrap one gift each on Christmas Eve, and I know exactly what I choose." His lips reach the sequined fabric, and suddenly his tongue presses against the dampness, causing her to bow up from the bed with a desperate moan for more.

She feels like she might explode at any moment, and incoherent pleas for him to strip away the last barrier between his lips and her need fall from her lips in soft whimpers. He moves almost painfully slowly, peeling away the fabric with the utmost care before sliding the panties down her legs and dropping them on the floor beside the bed. His lips begin traveling up her inner thighs just as slowly, and the sensuous torment makes her want to scream with impatience; he seems to touch her everywhere at once, his hands exploring her naked flesh as he finally lets his tongue dart out to taste her. She vaguely recalls a time when she was appalled by the idea of Finn's mouth between her thighs, but now she shudders in ecstasy. He knows precisely how to make her come apart at the seams, and his tongue flicks across her clit, making her hips jerk. Her fingers tremble as they rake through his hair, and she whines with frustration when one large hand presses her hips down, preventing her from riding his tongue into blissful oblivion.

"Please," she whimpers, and Finn merely responds with a soft hum of approval at his wife's reactions. "Fuck, Finn—"

Her words fade into moans and incoherent babbling when his tongue curls slightly, and his thumb begins to work her clit in small circles. There's something insanely beautiful about watching Rachel fall to pieces, and he can't take his eyes off her as she arches and cries out his name, her entire small frame trembling as she came. Not quite sated, she pulls him up into a searing kiss that leaves him feeling light headed, and when she rolls him onto his back he's suddenly glad that he forewent boxers because he can _feel_ _everything._ She's so hot and wet as she straddles his lap; his erection strains against the fabric of his pajama pants, and she rocks her hips down against him. The moan that leaves his lips is broken and desperate. His hands fumble to shove his pajama pants down, and she reluctantly lifts her hips to allow them to be removed.

"I love you." Her kiss is feather soft when it brushes his jaw line, and he sits up slowly, his arms wrapping around her so that he can stroke the soft skin of her back. "Tonight's the first time I make love to my husband. Promise me I'm not dreaming."

"This is real, baby girl." He kisses the corner of her mouth and brushes the hair from her face. "We are real, and this night is real."

They fit together so perfectly, and as he fills her completely, Rachel lets herself melt against him, her lips captured in a slow sensual kiss that wipes everything from her mind. They move smoothly, no hesitation and no rush. Her hips rock with every upward thrust and his hands explore her back as they kiss, chests pressed together because they can bear no distance between them now. Their rhythm feels almost too perfect to be real, as if there can be no other reason for their union than the simple fact that they were made to love each other. Her legs wrap around his waist, and he rolls them so that he's above her. The new angle brings new sensations, and their fingers intertwine before he brings them over her head; his lips fuse over hers as his thrusts become sharper and deeper. Desperately they work to make it last, to draw out the sensations that flood them for as long as possible, and when he releases her hands she quickly clings to him, her face buried in the heat of his shoulder. But his thrusts rapidly become more erratic, and control is no longer an option. Every part her small warm naked body presses to him, and her nails scrape his back, lips pressed to his skin and muffling the mewling moans that are rapidly becoming full blown cries of pleasure. His hand slips between them, desperate to have her reach her orgasm as he reaches his, and his fingers instantly find her clit, brushing it over and over until she lifts her lips from his shoulder to scream out his name. Her orgasm races through her, making her tremble against him, and his hips jerk once, twice, and then a third time as he releases.

"Oh my god, Finn; that was so—I can't—so incredible, baby." She gasps as she pulls him down on top of her, reveling in the weight of his body against hers.

"Best Christmas ever," he murmurs as he gathers her in his arms and rolls on to his back so that she rests lightly on his chest.

"The holiday isn't over yet." His eyes light up and before she can say anything else, his lips are on hers and their hands are sliding over warm skin.

"Merry Christmas to me," he chuckles as his hands skim lower. "I love you so much."


End file.
